No Hand Can Write This

He plays a song of rain
and locks with a broken
valve in the night.

He who promised not to tell with
teeth fiercely pressed together
like the bricks of the old Mexican
church, forever in stone.

Forsaken
and doomed, a thousand fingers
point to an old man smashed
on a round table of failing stocks
and downward trends.

And he still plays on with
all the pathetic humor of
a performing
bear.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s